Rebirth
by GreekyGirl
Summary: Jerry's thoughts as he's transported to Planet Squanch via flying space meatball. Welp, if you ever wanted to know how it feels to travel 6000 light years in a courier flap, here's your chance. (Takes place during Season 2 episode 10)
1. Reverse Birth, Yooo

A/N:

Rated T for gross-ish descriptions/implied childhood sexual abuse/violation of pERsONAL SPACE... most of this only applies to Part II but still.

Sooo, yeah. This is my first fanfic in like... 6 years... Usually I only write my own stuff, but I was inspired by season 2 episode 10. And by two seasons worth of Jerry-bashing. I mean, after re-watching Rick & Morty a shameful number of times, I've found that Jerry is actually one of my favorite characters. I just wanted to give him the spotlight for a bit.

Third-person limited, Jerry's POV, so expect some Rick-hating. Also, it was kind of long so I split it into three parts.

* * *

PART I

 _Summary_

In which Jerry almost feels complete again.

And then goes back to being who he will always be,

because that's how TV shows work.

...

"Whadd' _you_ know about friendship, _Jerry_.."

 _Confirmed. Shipping Jerry._

Jerry raises his hands as it approaches, crying, "W-wait!" but even as he says it, he knows it's too late. He panics, unable to think, as it opens up above him...

The first thing that comes to mind is Beth's pussy. The smooth, velvety interior walls, the slippery salty wetness staining the lips and bits of hair around the opening, the tight grip it has on his body as it sucks him in… of course, Jerry would never dive headfirst into his wife's apex. Penis-first, sure. And maybe face-first if the night went exceptionally well, but to go headfirst _up there?_ Only babies do that and it's only 'cause they want out!

But Jerry has no choice in the matter. The flesh descends upon him, _around_ him, the mucus from the dark interior dripping onto his hair and clothes. Its pseudopods gather his body and fold it into the fetal position, all within a second of confirming Rick's order.

From within the flap, Jerry can hear nothing but the squelch of liquid and the occasional gurgle from the fleshy walls. He knows they are moving—he can tell by the lurch in his stomach and the gravity pressing him to the back wall. It's warm and humid and it stinks like morning breath. Jerry _hates_ it.

He first tries to escape by prying at the bottom of the flap, digging his fingers into the wet crevices, but some hidden muscles clench harder with every second, squeezing his fingers in a tight vice before pushing them back out of the flesh with a singular, body-wide pulse. So then he just resorts to banging his fists against the walls, but it doesn't do anything. It barely even makes a sound.

After deciding escape is hopeless, Jerry snakes his arms around his knees and lowers his head. The velvet walls pulse regularly against is back, encroaching on his space and then receding. It reminds him vaguely of his time visiting nursing homes as a boy scout—how the older men liked to press against him. He scoots forward as much as he can. It doesn't really help, so Jerry decides to do as he did back then and Pretend Nothing Is Happening. I'm just having a dream, he thinks, a nightmare more like.

"Calm down, Jerry," he murmurs, "Nothing but one of Rick's… _stupid_ adventures. It'll be over soon." He hopes.

Breathing through his mouth, Jerry decides the best course of action is—as much as he hates it—to wait for Rick. Because Rick _will_ come for him, won't he? He has to. Beth will make him. And if not Beth, the kids. The kids love him. Well, sort of… he's pretty sure they don't want him to die, at the very least. Jerry couldn't really say if Beth felt the same in that category, though.

Sometimes when she works nights, he stays up just so they can fall asleep together—partly out of tradition and partly because he's always wired from spending the day spread out on the couch… but also partly because Jerry is sort of worried Beth'll someday come home, exhausted, only to find that Jerry left his empty beer bottle on the coffee table, or his underwear didn't quite make it into the hamper. And then, as always, a minor mistake will release a cascade—seventeen years worth of bitterness, all pooling at her feet as she watches over Jerry's defenseless, sleeping form. Compounded by her father's unashamed distaste for his existence, Beth might find it in herself to stab him, oh, maybe... seventeen times.

These are his more tame anxiety-fueled fantasies. Some nights he imagines Beth using her surgical skills to force a fetus inside him or something, and then she'd make him carry it around for the rest of his life. " _Do you feel it now, Jerry? It hurts doesn't it?"_ And then she'd get real close up to his face: _oh–oh are you crying? You're crying? Like a fucking baby._

Jerry shakes himself. Beth can be cruel, but she is not Rick. She is nothing if not predictable. Which means Beth will never, ever kill him… probably. Hopefully. Buuuut she might leave him for dead.

The kids, he thinks, _the kids_. He'll be okay. The kids'll save him. Jerry at least has the kids. Summer, he knows, doesn't like him much as a person. She doesn't even hug him anymore.

But Morty, Morty likes him a _little_.

Jerry always felt that he understood Morty to a degree—they never had to talk too much in each other's presence and their conversations never really strayed beyond the mundane. He was happy with this—comfortable.

Jerry used to see Morty as an extension of himself. Morty wasn't good at school, but then Jerry was never an honors kid either. He just barely managed to get a bachelor's degree and now it's pretty much useless. In a sad sort of way, Jerry sees Morty heading in the same direction. But at least the kid lacks fantastical aspirations. All he wants is a job that doesn't suck (although now, Jerry supposes, Morty might wish to be a genius or something else Rick-like. Leave it to Rick to expose a new world of disappointments). Jerry never had to worry about Morty being unhappy before Rick came into their life because Morty was satisfied as it was.

Jerry and Morty used to spend a lot more time together, actually. Whenever Jerry had yard work, Morty offered to help without even having to be asked. He just kinda liked plants, if Jerry could remember correctly. But it's been a long time since they've gardened together. Maybe that's changed by now.

Morty isn't quite the same anymore. He broaches bigger subjects. He's bored with small talk—and in a way, Jerry can't help feeling this is a representation of Morty's future. Morty is no longer satisfied and there is no guarantee that feeling of satisfaction will ever return. Jerry knows best—once you've lost a bit of yourself, whether it be to a situation or to a person, it's hard to be whole again.

Jerry fists his jeans, trying to ignore the sensation of mucus squeezing out from between his clenched fingers. His breath comes out quick and hot, expanding into the small space he created for his body. He's starting to feel a little dizzy and his stomach turns.

 _Rick._ Jerry hasn't really spent any quality time with Morty since _Rick_. That was it, wasn't it? Now, whenever he checks Morty's room, it's empty except for some hastily shed pajamas and mussed bed covers. When Morty i _s_ home, he's either asleep or listless, staring at his phone or the television—or hanging out in the garage with _Rick_. He wonders if Rick even knows Morty used to like plants. Or if Rick knows that Morty used to like drawing cartoons, too.

Morty was always full of the useless in that way—stuff that wouldn't get you anything in real life. Drawing, gardening, a disturbing knack for predicting the weather just by glancing at the sky. It couldn't make you money unless you knew how to use it, which Morty didn't and likely never would. He just didn't have the intellectual ability to further his drawing skills to the professional level. And it's not like he'd ever develop the charisma needed to be a television weatherman. Maybe he'd end up with a job as a menial yard worker at least. That's what Jerry always imagined when he pictured adult Morty.

But Rick came in and destroyed all of that. He tore apart Morty's flimsy future. How long has it been since Morty has shown Jerry any sort of art at all? Even his failing tests are free of margin doodles. What about weather prediction? Rick must've disturbed whatever weird internal almanac allowed Morty to do that—or maybe Morty just doesn't look at the sky much anymore now that he's been in space. Not much point in observing the atmosphere after catching a glance of everything outside of it.

Rick the Ruiner. He's messed up Morty, he's underlined Beth's own weird daddy issues that somehow _always_ bite Jerry in the ass—Rick's probably messed up Summer somehow too, although she was kinda already on her way to becoming a stripper or something. Still. Now she probably wants to travel space and… and crap.

Jerry lets out a choked sob that he didn't even realize he was holding back. The sound is loud and abrupt after not speaking for so long. Jerry isn't even sure how long he's been encased in the courier flap. His ass and feet are tingling with pins and needles, and his legs and back ache with the need to stretch. It feels as if it's been hours.

Where is Rick? Morty? Do they not know where he is? Are they even trying to find him?

Jerry begins to hyperventilate. Of course. Rick. Rick in all his "wisdom" probably convinced them to leave him, let him go. Jerry blinks a few times, his eyelids heavy. He can't breath—he keeps trying to gulp in the hot air, but nothing sticks, it just seeps back out his mouth.

Is he gonna die? Is he really about to die in a flying space uterus? He's gonna die and he's only thirty-four… and it's gonna be _Rick's fault._ God, the guy's probably proud of himself, drinking all of Jerry's lite beer in celebration...

"Are you—" he gasps. "Are you _kidding me?_ "

Everything goes dark. Well, it's already dark. Point is, Jerry's body goes limp and his head lolls.

...


	2. Just Chillin' in the Womb

Recap:

Jerry gets picked up by the courier flap. He freaks out for a bit and then settles in, deciding Rick will hopefully rescue him? Then he has some bitter thoughts about Rick destroying his family and his life, pretty much. And with that, Jerry breathes all the available oxygen in the vicinity and passes out for an undocumented period of time. Long enough to get brain damage? Who knows! :)

* * *

PART II

 _Summary_

I thought about being clever, but instead I'm going for concise:

Jerry gets force-fed some gross-ass "food."

...

Something small and sharp pierces the flesh of Jerry's neck.

 _Injecting respiration-regulatory nanobots. Setting: planet earth. Oxygen, 21%, nitrogen, 78%, carbon dioxide, assorted gases, 1%—compiling. Compilation complete. Nanobots activated. Ventilation system activated._

Jerry groans and opened his eyes as the sharp object recedes. He slaps the back of his neck, feeling for a wound, but finds nothing.

A shallow hole in the adjacent flesh wall appears with a sharp sucking sound.

"Ah-hh!" Jerry, on instinct, tries to scramble away, his heart beating hard against his rib cage. But nothing comes out of the hole. It just opens and closes like a fish's mouth, gaping when the courier flap contracts and closing when it expands. At least there's some faint, red light seeping from the opening, allowing him to finally to see the wet, corrugated interior of the courier flap.

"Oh my god," Jerry reaches up to grip his hair, "Oh my god." He isn't sure how long he's been unconscious, but by now his whole body is covered in a thick layer of mucus, glittering with every blink of the red light. Even his lips smack together wetly every time they moved, a sound he immediately associates with _intimacy_. Jerry winces, trying to banish the thought of Beth from his mind. Ugh, gross. Looks like for once, he'll be the one turning down sex next time around. Well, if Beth ever happens to offer. Which… well, she won't.

Jerry tries wiping his face with his arm, but that does nothing but smear the jelly into his nostrils. He can taste it—it's incredibly salty but it also tastes kind of like those chemical concoctions Summer used to make when she was little. She just mixed together all the shampoos and creams in the bathroom until she got a pretty color (he only knows this because honestly, when poured into a champagne glass, the whole mixture just kind of resembles one of those hip new drinks they sell at the more upscale downtown restaurants—he threw up after one heavy sip).

He tries to spit out the taste but his saliva just sorta drips down his chin. Jerry frowns, mouth clenched shut.

It's so _hot_ in here—like ninety degrees or something. He's sure he is sweating, but he can't tell with his shirt already dampened by the gel. Sniffing at his pits, all Jerry can smell is the same noxious bad-breath air and… piss? Wait… his hand shoots down to feel the space between his legs. There's a very shallow puddle of cool liquid sloshing around, less viscous than the wall mucus.

"Aw, _c'mon!_ " He feels the back of his pants, relieved at the fact that he at least didn't shit himself. On cue, his stomach growls. "Well, that's great. I'm gonna starve to death sitting in my own piss. As if I had any dignity left to lose." Jerry harrumphs and folds his arms, mumbling something about _Rick_ and his stupid _flaps_.

The courier flap quakes and then an electronic voice emanates from all around Jerry. He screeches and again tries to get away without success, but he does manages to turn himself to the side a bit.

 _Biological distress detected_ , it rumbles. _Introducing nutrient supplement._

In the dim light, Jerry sees a needle emerge where the back of his neck had previously rested. A shiver wracks his body and he curls further into himself.

 _Change in position detected. Recalibrating–_

"No, no, no, nooonononoo," he whimpers, "No needles, oh god. Please no needles!" He squeezes his eyes shut.

 _Confirmed._ The needle recedes immediately. _Nutrient supplementation, orifice mode, commenced._

"Orifice?" Jerry manages to unstick his eyes, feeling his expression crumple. "What does—what do you mean by that?"

 _Positioning recalibrated. Adjusting cargo._

The interior of the courier flap ripples and shakes beneath Jerry. He whimpers and struggles for a handhold that is not there; the blinking red light shows a horrifying stop-motion of wet, muscular pseudopods rising from the floor to grip his arms and waist.

"Oh god, oh god, ohhhh god—"

Jerry finds himself forced on his hands and knees.

 _Primary orifice insertion commenced._

He feels something like a tube jam against his butt, right above his asshole. The sensation disappears and then it pushes against his jeans again, harder this time. "What are you–stop that!"

 _Orifice unexpectedly_ –

"In the mouth, the _mouth._ Up here!" Jerry cries. "Food goes in through up here." He breaks off into a quiet sob, letting his head hang.

 _Confirmed. Recalibrating—_

"Just—let me do the re-calibrating or whatever, okay? I'm a grown man, I can move myself around!"

 _Confirmed_.

Jerry sighs in relief as the pseudopods release him from their tight grip. They sink back into the scenery, but now Jerry knows they're there, reading to strike at any moment. It is not a comforting thought. He curls back up into the fetal position, staring ahead with trepidation.

 _Recalibrating_.

A clear tube emerges from the opposite wall. It snakes out across the small space and pauses at Jerry's mouth. Then, it thrusts itself at his face—it pokes once, twice, three times, each stab more forceful than the last.

 _Orifice unexpectedly blocked. Commencing forceful—_

Jerry whimpers and opens his mouth.

 _Cancelling forceful insertion. Insertion of nutrient supply commencing._

The plastic tube slides into his mouth. He thinks maybe it's going to stop there, to maybe deposit the food right into his mouth—but then it keeps going, pushing against his palate. Jerry feels himself beginning to retch. His hands automatically reach up to grip the tube, to tug it back out—the flap seems to sense this, so the pseudopods return and pinned him to the wall. He lets out a muffled grunt, his stomach rippling in protest. When the stomach acid tries forcing its way up his esophagus, the tube just pushes it right back down.

Jerry watches in horror as a brown sludge slowly makes its way up the clear tube, towards his mouth.

"MMm! MMm! Mmm mm!" He thrashes his head around until pseudopods emerge from behind, wrapping their wet warmth around his forehead until he can't move at all. "Mmm! Mmm mm, mm mmm mmmm mmmm _mmm!_ " Jerry watches in despair as the brown sludge disappears into his mouth. He can feel the slight expansion of the tube around the lump, can feel it as it sinks down his esophagus, settling heavily in his stomach.

 _Insertion of nutrient supplement complete. Recession commencing._

The tube slowly slithers back out of Jerry's mouth, leaving a thin trail of the grainy brown sludge on his tongue—it tastes like a concentrated mixture of both the mucus and the air within the flap. He spits, but it sticks to his chin again. The tube disappears into the wall and the pseudopods take that as their cue to disappear too. Jerry exhales sharply as he is released, his hands settling over his stomach.

 _Nutrient supplementation command completed. Biological distress alleviated._

"Yeah, right," Jerry mutters. And then he stiffens immediately, praying the flap paid his attitude no mind. He can't even imagine how it'd try to force him to "relax" should it feel the need to _alleviate his emotional distress_.

But the courier flap remains inert aside from the regular pulsing of the walls and the faint red light. Jerry shuts his eyes again, letting his forehead rest on his knees.

...


	3. Jerry is Birthed

Recap:

Jerry is injected with nanobots that allow him to breath; he pissed his pants; annnnd then he's force-fed through a plastic tube all while still trapped within the courier flap. Fun.

* * *

PART III

 _Summary_

Jerry reminisces and

is probably kind of disappointed with reality.

...

They aren't coming for him.

Jerry isn't sure how long it has been, but it has been long enough. His family does not intend to save him. After all, what do they need him for? He doesn't even provide for the family anymore. And if someone decides they want Jerry around after all, Rick can always hop over to the Jerry-boree and take one of the Jerry's left behind by alternate Ricks. Which, by the way, Jerry _still_ doesn't understand. Other Ricks? Other Mortys? Other _selves?_

Jerry's solution is to avoid thinking about it, which has so far served him well.

Except he can never quite stuff down the thoughts about that one Rick... The only nice one he'd ever met, the Rick with the weird haircut—if he was still around, maybe Jerry could hope for rescue. But that Rick is long gone, back to his own dimension. Maybe Jerry should've gone with him.

Jerry turns his head, because right about now is the moment where he's supposed to stare pensively out the window, but then he remembers there is no window. Just wet, warm flesh. But y'know, it isn't actually so bad. He found out he can stretch out whenever he wants, he just needs to _ask_ the courier flap to expand a bit. Plus, Jerry finds the flap is very efficient at getting rid of human waste. He misses the taste of real food, but after the second feeding, Jerry managed to repress his gag reflex and instinctive nausea enough so that the experience isn't quite so traumatizing. His skin is kind of wrinkly from being wet for so long, which concerns Jerry, but he just tries to distract himself from thoughts of skin slippage by remembering his home. He'll see it again if he survives. And if he dies, well—Jerry isn't thinking about that.

So, yeah, they aren't coming for him. He knows that by now. He's accepted it. But as soon as he is released from the flap, Jerry will find a way home. He has to.

Home isn't… ideal. But he understands it. Or at the very least, can work within its constant rules.

The rest of the universe isn't his kind of game. Even this weird meatball of a thing is so alien to him, despite countless off-planet trips. The universe never gives you a moment to adjust, Jerry decides. The universe is… Well, it's pretty much Rick. It's unforgiving, unpredictable, and far more complex than you can ever hope to understand.

Basically, the universe is a giant dick and Jerry isn't about to suck it. He wants to go home to his beautiful, cruel wife and his brainwashed kids. Rick, he can do without, but he obviously isn't leaving anytime soon. Jerry can live with that until further notice.

For the first time in a while, Jerry's muscles sort of relax. They have to tense up immediately afterwards because he starts slipping down the curved walls of the courier flap, but the point is, he feels okay for a moment.

He remembers Summer's expression when they finally had something to talk about. It may have been a stupid reality TV show in which a man spends three months choosing a fake wife, but it was _something_. It was a reason for Jerry to connect with Summer, which is an amazingly difficult feat. She's like her mother in that way.

And Morty. Morty used to dig his hands into the soil with the utmost care. He could remove the plants from their trays with the least destruction—meanwhile, any plant Jerry tried to remove ended up in the crap pile with discarded trays and bits of trash found in the dirt. "Y-you see, dad," Morty once said, demonstrating, "You have to squeeze the bottom part of-of the tray or—you can't just tug it from the top, 'cause that'll, it'll rip the roots and stuff."

Jerry remembers Beth, cooking breakfast in the morning ten years ago. Summer and Morty were playing with mud in the backyard, which Beth would get angry about later, but at that moment she was humming along with NPR's interlude music, mixing pancake batter while watching the bacon sizzle in the pan. She looked over her shoulder at Jerry and smiled brilliantly in the golden morning sun—

The courier flap shudders and Jerry is vaulted against the opposite side of his small space. His stomach drops and he senses a new weightlessness in his body as the courier flap flies… downward? It shudders again, harder this time, and Jerry slips as he tries to maintain his position, sliding flat onto his back.

The floor gives beneath him, squeezing his body impossibly tight so that he's pretty sure it's trying to absorb him. _This is how I die,_ is his agonized thought. But then the pressure disappears and he slips from the flesh onto something harder—everything around him is impossibly bright, searing, and the courier flap is gone.

Jerry grunts and gasps, suddenly feeling all the old aches in his limbs as he sits up. Above him stands a slender silhouette and it sharpens so that Jerry can recognize the shape of the hair, the sweet pinch of the waist.

"Where am I?!" He cries.

Beth's expression comes into focus; it is, as always, unimpressed. "You're at a _wedding_." She tosses something his way and it lands over his head, granting him some relief from the brightness of the outside world. "Go change."

Jerry sighs where he lays on the ground, listening to Beth walk away. _Well_ , he thinks, _at least I can use this wedding to look for a job, maybe._

When he finally stands up, green goo dripping from the tips of his fingers, Jerry looks at the sky. There are ships zooming through the sky, some emerging from behind oddly-shaped housing structures, but no courier flap and no Earth. He's stranded in Rick's world now. He supposes they all are.

Is that deep? Is there some kind of message in that thought? He shakes his head, pulled back to reality by the alien chattering of a passing group.

Jerry frowns one last time at the greenish atmosphere and then heads inside.

...

* * *

A/N:

Ta-da, that's the end! Please let me know what you thought of this fic, yoooo.


End file.
